


.367

by jewelianna88



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewelianna88/pseuds/jewelianna88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baseball AU.  August ball is the heart of baseball, and Joey's found a rather unconventional lucky charm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	.367

None of the players on the team were at the top of the standings, by any means. They were the upper-middle crew, occasionally peaking onto a top 10 or 20 list, but for the most part they would have floundered in oblivion were it not for the team. Because while none of them were aces on their own, together they formed a unique entity, one that was infinitely greater than the sum of its parts. Mathematicians would say it wasn't possible. Baseball fans would call it the perfect team. By July, they had slid into such a groove, such a perfect harmony that they could run entire games without saying a word, communicating by gesture and expression alone. They didn't, but they could have.

It's rare that this kind of team comes along, and it proves the old adage that super stars don't win ball games. Teams win ball games. There was no room for ego in the team so closely knit together, the fibers woven so tightly that for one to excel meant all would excel. And at the core of the team-- the pitchers and fielders and coaches all combined-- at the core were five.

Joey Fatone was one of them, the amicable hard working left fielder whose arms were a force to be reckoned with given bat or ball. He could throw from the wall to the pitcher’s mound, making it look like nothing at all that the ball sailed further from his hand than most anyone else’s in the world. He swung hard, developing a reputation as the guy who never went down looking. He'd come to the team as part of a trade deal two years ago, and was always the subject of trade rumors in late spring, but somehow he’d managed to stick with them, cheerful smile never leaving his face, always taking time to talk to the media after a game. It was said that a Joey Fatone autograph was worth dirt because there were so many of them out there- he never said no to a fan and never said he played for anything other than the love of the game. Money and titles held no power over Joey, a flash of the old game mentality on the field.

The other four were the infielders, forming a strong line across the bases. Lance Bass played third, the new guy who'd somehow made people forget he'd been sent up from the minors only months earlier because he was so sure, so strong at third. He was one of the smartest guys Joey had ever seen on the field, able to read pitchers so clearly that there had been conspiracy talks running around the sports bars after his first series against the Orioles last May. There was no plot, no secret tapping in the opponent's dugout-- Lance was just that good at picking up on details. At third, he was constantly on the move, never caught with his heel off the bag when the throw came in, never shying away from crashing into the wall to chase a pop fly. The guy who started the season with them had been relegated to the bench even after his rehab stint was over, because no one could match Lance's quiet domination of the corner.

Then there was the pair, JC Chasez and Justin Timberlake, who'd come up through the same farm system, and despite the difference in their ages, were often thought of as The Twins for their unique ability to read each other’s movements so succinctly that they'd become a double play force dreaded by every hitter in the league. Timberlake was the young eager guy, who always jumped on the first pitch, more often than not dropping it onto the left field warning track, or even into the bleachers. JC was more patient, batting third and known for his power line drives that would bring home runners. He drove pitchers crazy, seeing six to ten pitches in every at bat. He led the team in RBIs so far that season, and was second only to Joey for home runs. Better, though, was his fielding, where he'd earned the nickname ‘Grasshopper’ for the high jump catches he could make, snagging balls that should have dropped in shallow left, stealing base hits from their opposition in the most death-defying manner.

Finally, there was the stalwart at first, Chris Kirkpatrick. He was a lifer, had been with the team since starting in the minors a decade early, destined to finish out his career there before moving into coaching for the same system. Chris was the shortest first basemen in the league, perhaps in the history of the game, and he'd fought all his life not to have his height keep him from what he loved. He stretched far, jumped high, and played every game with more vigor and energy than most teams managed to muster. He was the player other pitchers dreaded, for his strike zone was almost half that of some of the taller players, sending him trotting down the first base line with a walk almost once a game. Chris was the heart and soul of the team, the one who brought it all together.

So it was the five, then, who formed the basis for what some argued was the greatest team ever to play the game. There were others - Tony Lucca in center field, the wiry base-stealer, and Trace Ayala in right, notorious for womanizing. Half the time it looked like he was sleeping standing up out there, but as soon as the crack of a bat echoed through the stadium he was on the move, always giving photographers a great shot as he dove and rolled to make a catch. Then there was Raymond, the catcher, last in the line-up, and Iglesias, the DH guy whose glory was slowly fading as the season progressed. And the pitchers, who weren't worth discussing because really, this was a hitting team, well. The pitchers were simply there and did their part.

As August dawned, there were five, though, who stood on the field together in the early morning mist.

“This is our time,” one of them said, and the others nodded. It was their moment to shine.

**

Joey twisted the bat nervously in his hands, turning and turning the wood under his gloves, waiting for that perfect grip to settle in. He tapped the dirt off of his cleats, sending up little clouds of dust around home plate. With a monstrous swing, he brought the bat up to his shoulder, thumping it against his back twice and cracking his neck, side to side. His ritual. The helmet settled back on top of his hair, heavy pressure, the brim shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun that poured in straight from center field. The roar of the crowd filled his ears as he settled into the batter’s box, legs spread just so. Hands before body, he thought, watching as the pitcher nodded at the signal and wound. His heart was pounding, pressure of this moment settling on him like an anvil across the shoulders. Kirkpatrick was next, so as long as he didn't hit into a double play, they'd be ok. Just get it to the outfield, he thought, just a base hit.

The ball came sailing, and his mind raced. Looked like a fastball, no a slider, that's a slider, the red dot there on the front of the ball, a little low, probably gonna catch the outside corner, wait for it, wait for it. Sweat dripped down the side of his face, rolling as time seemed to slow down, his eyes on the ball hurling toward him.

The crack echoed through his hands, up his arms, in his shoulders, down his spine as he pushed through it, keeping the bat on the ball as long as he could, driving it up, and out, willing it with mind, body, and soul to sail over that wall. He felt the bat come around, the ball now free, and he knew it was going to fly.

Feet pounded on the dirt, and the crowd was on its feet in a blur of motion from the stands. They were cheering as he rounded first and knew, just knew, that it was gone. Joey glanced across the diamond, saw Chasez just past third, heading home. The opposing shortstop was kicking the dirt, disgusted, as Joey jogged by, careful to step on every bag.

He jumped on home plate with two feet when he got there, Chasez waiting to slap his shoulder, his butt. They ran back to the dugout together, past Kirkpatrick in the on-deck circle, smiling at them, yelling out congratulations. They walked into the dugout together, giving double-handed high-fives to everyone as they passed. It was the ritual.

Joey stuck his battling helmet into its hole, and began pulling off the batting gloves. On the field, Chris sent a line drive over the second baseman's head to drop in right field, and the opposing coach sent a call to the bullpen. Joey sat back on the bench, smiling as the assistant batting coach patted his knee in congratulations.

This was what it was all about.

**

It was the last game of a six-game home stand, and they'd taken five of the six, only dropping one to their arch rivals, much to the chagrin of fans who wanted a sweep, but those were the statistics, the way the game was played. Even a last-place team has to win sometimes, and those guys were definitely not last-place material. They were a half-game ahead at the All-Star break and no one had been able to knock them out of the lead since. Until now.

August ball was the heart of baseball, where every mistake counted and every hit helped. Where a tired pitcher could mean the difference between October or an extra-long off-season. It was a grind, but the best fucking time of a player’s life. Kids like the idea of an extended vacation. Ballplayers dread it more than anything else.

“Good game,” Lucca said on the way to the shower, towel wrapped around his skinny waist. He was center field to Joey's left, and Joey liked him a lot, they'd come out of the same farm league years ago. Lucca was on a hot streak in the box, too, hitting someplace just below Joey's .329 as the team's leadoff guy.

“Thanks, man, you too.” Everyone told the reporters that every game is the same, that they don't put any extra effort into these games, but it was a lie. When they can beat their arch nemeses, the ones who had proclaimed themselves “unbeatable,” who threw around the word dynasty in blatant self-promotion – every player knew that they worked harder to win those games.

“We've got Sliders open tonight, you coming?” Sliders was the hometown bar where people went to celebrate, the team's safe haven where you didn't get in unless you had a number under your name or were on a very short list. The life of a ballplayer didn't allow for much indulgence, but occasionally everyone had to let loose.

“I'll be there.” Day games were great, especially when they were followed by an off day. He could head home, tuck his little girl into bed and still get in a good night on the town. Sunday nights weren't great for social activities, but Sliders would keep the bar open as long as someone was there to celebrate. That day's win had just put them on top of the division for the first time in three weeks, which was cause for celebration.

“ 'Course he'll be there,” Chasez said, slinging an arm around Joey's neck. “Fatone here can never turn down a party.” Joey laughed amicably, knowing his reputation was greatly exaggerated in the press. JC squeezed his shoulders and brushed past him to the showers. Joey’s shoulders tingled when air hit his sweat-soaked skin where JC's arm had been.

He showered quickly and met the reporters outside for questions before climbing into Lance's Expedition and driving on home. He’d lent his car to his ex-girlfriend, and Lance lived in the same swanky suburb during the season.

At home, his daughter was waiting in her booster seat at the table, spaghetti smeared all over her face. He kissed the top of her head, avoiding the red gooey hands until Maria, the nanny, had a chance to wipe them.

“Home run!” she cried, begging to be picked up. He scooped her up in one arm, grinning as she planted tomato kisses on his cheek. “You hit a home run.”

“You watched the game?” he asked, frowning at the nanny. He didn't like his daughter cooped up inside watching television on sunny summer days.

“We had the radio on in the garden. Briahna planted pansies, didn't you, sweetie?” Maria tugged at the bottom of Briahna's little sundress, pulling it down over her underpants.

“Uh-huh, and we hafta water them every day,” she said, her face a mask of seriousness.

“We'll have to remember that,” Joey said, equally serious, staring her straight in the eyes until she giggled. God, she was his sunshine, bringing light into his world. “Can you show me?” he asked. She squirmed to get down, then ran out the back door.

Joey told Maria to take a few hours off, and followed his kid out to the garden, where the freshly-dug dirt glistened with water mist. There were two nearly-straight rows of the pretty little flowers. Briahna was bent down, hands on her knees, little butt sticking out as she studied her plants.

“They're growing,” she said, squinting up at Joey. He knelt beside her.

“They are. You did a good job.”

She sprung up to kiss his cheek, then took off running for the sand box. Joey followed, helping her to find buried treasure for a while before switching to the swings, where he pushed “Higha, higha, Daddy, higha!”

By sunset, her eyes were drooping, riding on his lap as he pumped his legs on the swing. He carried her inside and wiped the worst of the dirt off before changing her into pajamas, her favorite ones that looked like a baseball uniform. Her mom would be picking her up tomorrow when he left on the team’s road trip out west.

“Night, baby,” he whispered, tucking back her silky chestnut hair and kissing her cheek. She was already fast asleep.

Joey ran to his own room, changing into a clean pair of jeans - damn grass stains, the bane of his existence. People usually hit up Sliders at nine, so he had only about an hour. Lance called, offering to pick him up again. Kelly, his ex and Briahna’s mother, had taken Joey's car on her trip because it had a bigger trunk than hers. He supposed he could go track down her car, but this way, he didn't have to worry about parking or driving home. Let Lance play DD.

Maria got back at the same time Lance pulled into the driveway, so Joey waved to her while climbing into the passenger seat of Lance's car.

“How's the man of the hour?” Lance quipped, settling back in the seat, fingers tapping to Garth on the radio.

“Ready for some action,” Joey said. “Off day tomorrow.”

“That's just code for everything's gonna be crazy tonight.” Lance smiled at him.

Joey grinned back. “Exactly.”

**

Chris was holed up in a booth at the back when Lance and Joey walked in, and waved them over. The place was packed with players and friends, so it took more than five minutes for Joey to work his way back; there were so many people to say hi to.

“Anna, baby, get the man of the hour his beer,” Chris called to the waitress, who smiled back at him endearingly. Chris had dated every woman in the bar at one point or another, before setting into a period of celibacy that he swore helped his hitting improve. Somehow, none of the women felt anything but love for him, despite the many phones that had not rung the next morning.

Lance was bopping along to the sounds of Bruce Springsteen that poured from the speakers, the little Lance Dance that everyone teased him about. Joey winked at Chris, knowing the insult was about to come.

He was interrupted by Justin, who catapulted over the back of the booth to slide in on Joey’s side. JC swung a chair over from one of the tables and sat down, backwards. They were accompanied by the return of the waitress, with four beers and a massive plate of nachos.

“On the house, boys.” She winked at Justin before leaving, who had the good grace to blush.

“Dude, no way.” Chris stopped eating and stared at Justin. “You and Anna?”

“Nah, man. It’s just a thing, it’s cool.” Justin shoveled a chip loaded with sour cream and guacamole into his mouth. Joey caught JC’s eye, and could tell there was more to the story by the devilish glint there.

“What about that actress?” Lance asked, but Justin just shrugged.

“She’s off to Australia for six months to film a movie. I think this was just a one time thing anyway.” He looked kind of sad about it, and Joey reached under the table to pat Justin’s knee. The poor kid was a serial monogamist, completely ignorant of the joys of the random hookup. He always ended beating himself up afterwards.

“Speaking of waitresses,” Lance said, “When’s Kelly coming home?”

“Tomorrow.” Joey’s ex had been working at Sliders when they met. Now, she was some kind of corporate guru for Major League Baseball, traveling and doing consulting on maximizing the appeal of corporate boxes or something. Joey hadn’t quite figured it out exactly, but their schedules worked well so that one of them always had Briahna with them.

Another round of beers came, and conversation turned to the game and the upcoming road trip.

“We’ve got six games against bottom ranking teams,” Chris was saying, “while those idiots we creamed today are playing division leaders. This should give us enough of a boost to solidify our place at the top of the division.” Joey grinned at the thought of being in first place.

Suddenly, the jukebox changed to Queen, and the old battle song poured into the tiny bar. Never one to let a chance to sing go by, Justin jumped up on the booth and began to croon the opening lyrics. By the time they got to the chorus, Joey had downed the round of complimentary shots that every home run hitter got each night and was feeling the buzz. He sang along, all of them did, chanting the favorite words of every ball player.

“We are the Champions, we are the Champions…”

**

His first thought the next morning was that someone was playing the drum set inside of his temples, and his mouth that tasted like ass. He moaned, the sound of his own voice making his head ache worse.

He was never drinking that much again.

Rolling over, he slammed into a body. A sleeping, naked body. That seemed to be male.

He was never drinking anything again.

Rolling the other way, Joey fell out of bed, landing on his hands and knees. Everything hurt, down to his bones. Practice was going to be torture today. And he needed to call home and make sure Maria was doing ok with Briahna.

Joey stumbled into the bathroom, leaving the light off to protect his tender eyes. He splashed water on his face, and squeezed toothpaste directly onto his tongue to get rid of the foul taste. He had no idea what he’d been drinking that would taste so nasty.

The flashback hit him full force, a flood of images fast-forwarding through his mind: the drunken celebration, Timberlake standing on the bar singing, the pitchers of beers and lines of shot glasses, then JC naked, and Joey had--

He made it to the toilet just in time, throwing up a whole lot of alcohol and, probably, JC’s jizz.

Fuck.

Cautiously, he stuck his head back out into the room. JC was sitting up, hand over his eyes. He looked as bad as Joey felt.

“Here.” Joey handed him a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. JC shook two out wordlessly and swallowed. He couldn’t take more, what with drug tests and everything.

“Did we, um.” JC shifted on the bed. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable, like his ass hurt, and um. Joey remembered some more and wiped at his nose. He could hear JC’s voice, breathy and begging “Put it in, man, put it in.” This was, by far, the worst situation he had ever been in. Ever.

“Fuck.” JC stood up, naked, stretching over his head. Joey couldn’t stop himself from looking, and oh, man. Why was he getting hard again? Dead dogs, he told himself- flies, maggots, grandma, go away, damn it! It helped a little.

“I didn’t know you went for this shit,” JC commented as he walked past Joey to the shower.

“Yeah, well. I’m not really. I mean. Just sometimes. When I’m drunk. And same goes for you, man. I didn’t know.” Joey sat down on the toilet, head in his hands.

JC shrugged and climbed behind the curtain. “It’s not something I advertise,” he called from under the spray.

Joey was surprised. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought it before, but JC said it, out loud. Without coercion.

Joey violently wished that he’d stayed in last night. Wished he’d been traded to Atlanta last May when the trade rumors surfaced. Wished Billy Crespo hadn’t kissed him in the dugout his junior year of high school, setting off this little secret he’d kept buried ever since.

JC shut off the water and reached for a towel. “Hey, look man. We can just forget the whole thing, no foul. Never happened.”

Joey glanced up at him. He looked pretty good like that, all wet. Joey had seen JC get out of a thousand showers and he’d never thought he’d looked good before. Something in his brain had gone screwy last night, Joey was sure of that.

“Yeah, man. Just drunken whatever.”

“Sure.” JC smiled patronizingly at him, which made it all worse, but he’d taken the out and there was nothing more to say now.

**

Joey jumped for the ball that Lance tossed him during warm-up, stretching to snag it before it fell to the grass behind him.

“You OK?” Lance asked, watching Joey’s return throw roll two feet short of where Lance stood.

“Yeah.” Joey rolled his shoulders, trying to get loose. He was so tense.

Lance raised his eyebrows and threw the ball back to Joey. “You sure? You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine.” It was a flat out lie. One didn’t sail through a sexual identity crisis and end up ‘fine.’

Lance didn’t look like he believed it either, but let it drop. “Get your head in the game, man.” He grabbed the ball from the air, and threw it back.

Joey bit his lip and focused on baseball. The stands were already filling, and he had bigger things to think about than whose bed he slept in last night.

**

August 4th: Safeco Field, Seattle. Day Game.

MIKE: It’s the seventh inning stretch here at the old ballpark, and everyone’s talking about Joey Fatone and JC Chasez, who have been carrying this game on their shoulders. Fatone’s 4 for 4 with a two-run homer in the second, and two base hits for five RBIs so far this game, and Chasez had his own solo-shot plus a couple of doubles.

JERRY: And don’t forget, he had that amazing catch in the third that probably saved them at least a couple of runs.

MIKE: You know, they call him the Grasshopper, now, someone over at ESPN dubbed him that and you can really see why.

JERRY: There’s no one else in the league who can make those kinds of plays. He’s like a human trampoline.

MIKE: Springs in his shoes or something. Whatever he’s got, Chasez and Fatone have kept this team alive, a one-two punch that’s due up again this inning.

JERRY: I don’t know what ignited these guys, but whatever it is, I hope they keep it up.

**

The clubhouse was a festive mob as the team celebrated the win that kicked off their nine-game road trip to the West Coast. Someone had champagne and it was spraying all over, dousing uniforms and equipment in sticky alcoholic bubbles. Joey wished he felt as festive as the rest of the team.

No one noticed that the two heroes barely spoke to each other in the dugout, and carefully avoided being on the same side of the locker room.

“Fatone! Get your ass outside, the press is waiting,” the bench coach called. Joey groaned.

“On my way,” he answered.

After giving several interviews, Joey donned street clothes and opted to walk back to the hotel. They sky was a maudlin gray, a light mist hanging in the air making everything damp and uncomfortable.

His cell phone rang a few blocks from the stadium, and Joey talked to Kelly for a few minutes, and his daughter. It made him feel better to hear voices from home, but it didn’t block out that sick, churning feeling in the pit of his stomach. The game had gone wonderfully, but the thing with JC was just starting to hit him. He couldn’t figure out if he was actually upset about it or upset about the wall it had constructed between him and JC.

The walk did nothing to clear his head, and he stayed in his room that night, waving off invitations for dinner and pool from his teammates. Joey crawled into bed long before he was tired and stared at the ceiling for long after the lights went out. He’d just played one of the best games of his life and he couldn’t even be happy about it because the only thing on his mind was JC and the blurry drunken image of what JC looked like spread beneath Joey on a rumpled black comforter, hands fisted in the fabric, mouth open in a desperate attempt to breathe.

Joey grabbed his headboard and began counting backwards from 100, trying to calm his body, to get his mind off of the idea of JC and sex, of men and sex, of sex in general.

He didn’t answer the quiet knock at the door, not wanting to deal with the possibility that it was JC and the even greater possibility that he wanted to drag him into the room and fuck him senseless.

**

August 5th: Safeco Field, Seattle. Night Game.

MIKE: Chasez’s at the plate, takes ball one low. He struck out the first time up. Second pitch is a strike down the middle. Fatone’s on deck, another strike out victim from the first inning. Chasez takes a big swing at the one, fouling it back. The count’s one-two.

JERRY: You don’t often see Chasez get behind in the count like this.

MIKE: No, not very often. Here’s the pitch, and he caught him looking, strike three! Chasez looks flabbergasted that he let that one go by.

**

Whatever they’d had in game one of the series was gone in game two. Joey’d been caught looking twice and popped out in his third at-bat. Their pitcher was glaring across the dugout at JC for letting two balls drop in shallow left, driving up the ERA for the outing.

“Chasez, Fatone,” the coach called midway through the top of the seventh inning. “Whatever the hell you did yesterday, you think you could find some of that again? You’re killing us out there, goddamn killing us.”

Joey looked at JC, who was staring straight ahead, face stony. He scratched his groin and turned his attention back to the game. He was not thinking that, no, no. Not thinking it at all.

It was easy, he thought, walking to the plate again in the eighth inning. Just hit the damn ball, put all that other stuff out of his mind. Two strikes, two outs, and they were down by a run. Just hit the ball. A three inch wide ball, flying toward him at 90 mph. Giving him approximately 2/10 of a second to decided whether or not to swing or stand. A fastball, and he swung, but it wasn’t. It was a breaking ball, and it dove, so he looked like an idiot whiffing in front of 45,000 people.

The walk back to the dugout to retrieve his glove was particularly humiliating that time.

They lost, 6-2, dropping them a full game out of first place since their rivals had won earlier in the day. It was beyond mortifying, and the rest of the team cautiously avoided them. If hot streaks were contagious, then so were slumps, but no one wanted to catch those.

**

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Joey turned to see Chris walking up to him in the dugout. The game had ended over an hour ago, but he was still sitting on the bench, watching the grounds crew clean up the field.

Chris slid in next to him and patted his leg. “Rough day.”

“It happens.” Joey didn’t like to admit it. It was easier to believe he was the invincible player.

“You just weren’t focused,” Chris said. “It’s pretty obvious there’s something on your mind.”

Joey stood and walked back to the locker room. Chris followed, one hand resting heavily on Joey’s shoulder.

“Shake it off, man. Just shake it off.”

**

August 6th: ESPN Baseball Tonight

Karl Ravech: Speaking of cold, take a look at this. Joey Fatone and JC Chasez were the heroes of the game two days ago, making incredible defensive plays and carrying big bats all through the game. Then today. Fatone only made it to base on a walk, and Chasez went 0-4 with three strikeouts! Then, and you really have to see this, Chasez lets the ball bounce off his glove and… where’s Fatone? He should be there to grab the ball in left, but he’s way off course. Lucca had to run in from center field to make the play, and two runs scored. Ouch. That’s gotta hurt. I don’t know what got into these guys today, but they’d better get to bed early tonight because Manager Johnny Wright’s not going to be happy with another day like this.

**

A replay in his own head proved there was only one thing that had set apart the first game from the next two: JC. And no matter how badly Joey felt after game one, the heavy weight of failure, of public failure, was much worse that his own private turmoil over sexual preferences and drunken mistakes.

And the idea of JC was driving him crazy every night. He hadn’t touched his dick except to pee since that night. He probably should have gone out and found some girl to reaffirm his heterosexuality. He should have avoided temptation. But he knew there was only one thing he could do to get his mind back in the game, and that was try it all again sober.

It wasn’t desire, or love, or even hormones that sent Joey down the hall to JC’s room that night, but desperation. He was a pretty sick guy, willing to fuck a friend-- a guy friend-- for the sake of a good game.

When JC closed the door behind him, Joey was all over JC, holding his face tightly, attacking JC’s mouth with fierce fervor. JC kissed him back without question, pulling Joey’s hips to him and grinding suggestively as his tongue darted in and out of Joey’s mouth. When Joey pulled away to draw a ragged breath, JC’s eyes closed, lashes sweeping his cheekbones gracefully.

“For luck, right?” Joey asked, dropping his hands to JC’s shoulders.

“Right,” JC breathed, his mouth close enough to Joey’s that Joey felt the words on his lips. “Luck.”

They kissed again, groping hands finding their way under clothes. Joey’s mind was a battlefield of questions about identity and public image and superstition, but he shut off the warring questions and focused on JC’s mouth going down, down, down.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Joey gasped. JC was staring up at him with wide eyes from between Joey’s legs. Joey’s knees quivered, his dick throbbed.

“Just go with it,” JC said, mouth wet and shining.

Joey could only nod along.

**

August 7th: Safeco Field, Seattle. Night Game.

MIKE: This has certainly been an interesting road trip for Joey Fatone, who went 4-4 three days ago, 0-3 two days ago, 0-4 yesterday, and is 3-3 again tonight as we move into the sixth inning

JERRY: Something was off yesterday, that’s for sure. I mean, look at JC Chasez, who has the same kind of up and down swing going on.

MIKE: It’s like a roller coaster out here. Did you ever do that, when you were playing?

JERRY: You know, it happens. You have off days and you just have to go back to the dugout and put it behind you. You can’t dwell on it because it’ll pull you down into a slump and then it’ll be all over.

MIKE: Well, they must have taken your advice because both of them are back in top form tonight.

JERRY: Let’s hope they keep it up. All right, a pitching change for Seattle, and Timberlake steps out of the box to wait…

**

They kept at it. If baseball was built on anything, it was superstition. There were guys who wouldn’t cut their hair during playoffs, or wash their batting helmet in a hitting streak. Joey just had a lot of gay sex, and played really well. His name had popped up on the top 10 batters chart for the first time in his career as his average passed the .360 mark. JC was right behind him, with Golden Glove rumors flying left and right.

He tried sleeping with women. Joey found himself a nice California girl at a players’ appearance and noticed JC trying the same thing across the room. It only felt vaguely like cheating, reinforcing that voice in his head that kept telling him that he wasn’t gay, only fucking another guy because it was lucky.

“So,” she purred, running a hand down his bicep. Her acrylic nails scratched his skin painfully, but he smiled anyway. “It must be tough on you guys, on the road all the time. No one to come home to.”

“Oh, we manage.” He stepped in closer to her, smelling the strawberry scent in her hair. Across the room, Lance lifted a glass, in toast of his conquest. Joey resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Lance and Trace were the players on the team. He’d done that, years ago, but outgrown the ‘girl in every port’ mentality about the same time that his daughter was born. Parenthood put a real damper on the party attitude.

“Still,” the girl said, pressing close at his side. “It must get lonely, all alone every night.”

Joey smiled down at her. She was hot, and the bright pink striped dress she wore hugged every curve. “Well, I wouldn’t object to some company.”

**

But it didn’t work. A night of great sex with-- Julie? Jamie? Jenny?-- whoever. It had been great, but it hadn’t given him an ounce of luck. He couldn’t even hit the ball at practice. His balance was completely off, screwing up his swing.

“One second,” he said, running back to the dugout, where JC was talking to one of the assistant coaches.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” he asked, grabbing JC’s arm and dragging him away. In under thirty seconds, he had JC pressed up against the wall of the showers and was on his knees. JC hummed in appreciation as he came, tucking himself neatly back into his uniform pants when Joey was done, hacking and spitting on the shower floor.

JC smiled down at him gently, curving a hand around Joey’s scruffy cheek. “Not that I’m objecting to spur-of-the-moment blowjobs, but a little warning next time?”

Joey nodded resolutely, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. No matter how many times he did that, it still tasted gross. And also, not smart to go down on his lucky sex partner in a very public place.

Risky, definitely, but Joey walked back to the field and hit three out in a row.

It taught him not to mess with success.

**

“Alright, Joey, what’s the secret?” Lance was twirling his bat like a samurai sword, keeping a ninja-dancing Justin at bay in right field. They were early for practice, waiting for the rest of the team to show up.

“What secret?” he asked.

“The one that’s got your batting average climbing. I’m watching and I can’t for the life of me figure out what you’re doing different.”

Joey smiled. Lance would be the one to study the game tapes to figure out some little trick to improve his own game. He was constantly stealing secrets from others. “Nothing, man, just on a roll.”

“You sure? No words of advice for those of us who need, desperately, to send a certain second baseman down into the sewers he crawled out of?” Justin was hopping up and down around the bag at first, where Joey and Lance had stopped to talk. Ever since Nick Carter had been awarded the coveted starting position in the All Star Game, Justin had been out for revenge.

Joey laughed. “Dude, just be glad you don’t have to deal with that nasty case of the crabs Nick picked up in Chicago.” What was well hidden from the media was common knowledge inside the ballparks. Nick Carter had a passion for loose women, and a standing prescription for three different antibiotics because of it.

Justin sighed. “Man, some day I just wanna beat his ass and be there to gloat over it they way they do, you know?”

Lance nodded sagely. “We’ll be there in October,” he said. “It’ll count then.”

**

Joey hadn’t thought about it much until the California girl, but there was something nice about having someone to go to every night. He had always loved the chase, but maybe that was because he’d never known anything else. This consistency had its own perks-- for one, he didn’t have to go looking for it, which saved a lot of time and let him get right to the good stuff. Also, JC was really, really good in bed.

Joey’d only been with one guy before, and Billy Crespo was either very inexperienced or very bad, because if Joey had been with JC back when he was 17, he probably would have slept with a lot more men in his lifetime. He hoped JC didn’t think he was that bad, but judging from the moaning orgasms, which men just couldn’t fake like women, JC was pleased.

They never spent the night together-- too intimate, and too risky- but sometimes after sex, they’d hang out and talk about their lives or the team. Baseball teams gossiped like sorority houses: who’s got a new trick, who’s drinking and whoring this week, who’s unhappy with a contract. They talked about that while drinking beers or watched a movie on Pay Per View in the hotel room. They ran together in the mornings, at the ballpark if they could get in, or on treadmills in the hotel gym.

They never talked about the thing between them, though. Joey wondered if they should. After a week, it was such a regular part of his routine that he was surprised when JC answered the door with his cell phone to his ear, holding up a finger to signify, “one minute.”

“Yeah, mom. I’ve gotta go, Joey’s here. Yeah, him. OK. I’ll call you later in the week. Bye.”

“Your mom?” Joey asked, when JC had set the phone down on the TV. JC nodded.

“She didn’t get a chance to see the game, just caught the highlights online. Wanted to say congrats for the home run.” The poor closer from the opposite team had sent JC a fastball that missed its targeted corner and sailed straight over the middle of the plate. JC had pounded it over the right field wall in the top of the ninth, sending three men home and giving them the eleventh-hour win.

“Moms are cool,” Joey said, then toed off his shoes and popped the button on his jeans. “But do you really want to be talking about your mom right now?”

JC grinned, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. He was one of the skinniest men that Joey had ever seen-- Joey could almost wrap his hands around JC’s narrow waist, but JC was all muscle, lithe and lean. Joey was still amazed at how well his hands seemed to mold over JC’s powerful biceps when he held him close for a kiss.

There was definitely something here, he thought, that was making this whole arrangement the best damn lucky charm he’d ever found.

“Hey, C?” Joey asked afterward they’d both come, breath returning to its regular pace. JC grunted into the pillow next to him in response. “You think this thing might ever wear off?”

“God, I hope not,” JC said, pushing himself up and crawling off the bed. He headed straight for the bathroom, fan whirring suddenly when the light turned on.

Joey stretched lazily, brushing his fingers against the frame of the landscape painting that hung over the bed. “Me too,” he said, but he wasn’t quite sure if he was talking about baseball.

**

The next day on the field, JC and Justin were doing double play drills, over and over again. One of the keys to the team’s defense was the pair of Chasez and Timberlake, who’d been working in tandem for so long that it felt unnatural when one of them had a night off. Second base and shortstop required the innate fluency, the ability to read each other’s movements perfectly. Joey watched them, amazed. Very few teams had that. Chasez and Timberlake were one of the great pairs in the game.

By the time they’d run through every play imaginable three times, JC was sweating in the hot summer sun. Justin grinned at him, eyes hidden by fielder’s glasses. Joey stood behind them listening, trying to appear blasé against the boards as his teammates lined up for batting practice.

“Got Derek on the mound tonight,” Justin commented as they set up near the backstop. “Gonna have a lot of groundballs.” Derek was a sinkerball pitcher, meaning there would be a lot of hits to the infield. They’d be kept busy on the field.

JC nodded, concentrating on a few practice swings. Joey noticed he’d been working with a heavier bat lately, and it seemed to be giving him a little more power.

“You and Fatone seem busy lately,” Justin said absently. JC looked up abruptly but Joey couldn’t read his expression. Those damn sunglasses were shielding his eyes.

“Yeah, we’ve been hanging out. He’s a cool guy,” JC said absently.

“He is,” Justin agreed, “But I haven’t seen you guys spending time together in years. It’s just weird, is all.”

JC shrugged off the comments, concentrating on technique as he stepped into the batters box. Joey swung his own bat around a few times, stepping a few feet closer so he could hear better. The pitcher, behind his screen, reached for a ball and began to toss. The steady crack of bat on ball was the only sound for the next few minutes.

“You should come out with us tomorrow,” Justin said. “After the game, we’re hitting up this place Chris knows in LA.”

Generally, JC would have been all over the opportunity to blow off some steam, especially after the ups and downs of the last few days, but he remained noncommittal. Joey frowned. He couldn’t tell Justin’s exact reaction as he exchanged places with JC in the batter’s box, but something told him Justin wasn’t happy about JC’s new reclusive habits. Joey wondered for a second if JC considered telling Justin, but it was a can of worms neither of them wanted to open.

**

There was something wrong with the plane that night, so they didn’t even fly out of Seattle until nearly 2 am, arriving in LA in early morning.

“Tired,” JC whispered to Joey as they rolled into the hotel parking lot. They had to be at the field in just under two hours.

“I know,” Joey said, half carrying JC off the bus. “Man, you’ve gotta walk,” he laughed. “People are gonna talk.”

They stumbled up to their rooms, JC dragging Joey into his at the last minute mumbling something about “help me with that thing we talked about.”

Across the hall, Chris and Justin exchanged baffled looks before closing their own doors and heading straight for bed.

**

It was Steve’s birthday the next day, so Joey called him up in the morning to wish him happy birthday. He’d sent his brother a new portable CD player last week, since Steve had accidentally driven off with his old one on the roof of his car.

“So how are things with you?” Steve asked, after Joey had barraged his ears with a terrible rendition of Happy Birthday. “You’re looking good on TV.”

“Yeah, man, things are good, they’re real good.” Joey stared out the window of his hotel room to the busy highway in the distance. All those people rushing to get somewhere.

“Anything new off the field?”

Joey paused, unsure of how much to reveal, but this was his brother, who’d always known him better than anyone. “I’m kind of seeing someone.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. But it’s weird, man. It’s. Ok, it’s a guy.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Joey could hear the sounds of morning talk shows in the background. “Dude,” his brother finally said. “Are you telling me you’re gay?”

Joey laughed. “I banged the hottest girl the other night, so I sincerely doubt it. I dunno, it’s. It’s different but it’s good.”

“Okay,” Steve said, drawing it out into three long syllables. “This is. New. But not bad. I mean, you’re happy right? And you’re doing well and everything so.”

“You’re not freaked?” Idly, Joey rolled a baseball across the tabletop and back. He hoped he hadn’t just said too much too soon. He didn’t even really know what this thing with JC was yet.

“Nah, not freaked. But are you gonna tell me who?”

“Nope.” Joey laughed at Steve’s whine of protest. “No way, man.”

“Oh, shit, it’s one of the other guys, isn’t it? It’s Lance, right? Or Timberlake, that kid totally takes it up the ass.”

“Goodbye, Steve,” Joey said, hanging up the phone as his brother continued to speculate.

**

August 12th: Angel Stadium, Night Game

MIKE: Well folks, it’s the last night of this nine game road trip, and we’ve seen some great things happening here on the West Coast. With the exception of those two Seattle Games, Chasez and Fatone have been on fire lately, and their hot streaks seem to be spreading to the rest of the team.

JERRY: That’s right, Mike. Kirkpatrick had that big hit yesterday, and Bass recorded his first grand slam of the season two days ago at Dodger Stadium.

MIKE: And we can’t count out Timberlake, who’s had a hit in his last fifteen games, the longest streak he’s had in his career.

JERRY: You almost want to wonder if they can keep up this pace, it’s gotten pretty frantic.

MIKE: Let’s hope so, Jerry. Alright, let’s take a look at the starting line up…

**

Joey let the first ball fly past him, watching as it bounced in the dirt by the catcher’s feet. Ball one. The second pitch was higher, and Joey watched as the ball hurled toward him, fastball, up and in. He leaned back, hoping to catch the umpire, but it was called strike one anyway. With a groan, he kicked the dirt off his cleats and shrugged his shoulders to get focused again.

The next pitch was high and away, just like he liked them. With a powerful swing, he drove the ball deep into the corner of left field, watching it drop just below the wall as he raced around first base and headed into second. A stand up double, but JC was home and Lucca was coming to the plate with the look on his face that said Joey better be ready to run. The second baseman for the Angels was gnawing on his lips worriedly, probably fearing that they were going to be swept through the whole series.

There was a crack, and a roar, and Joey was running, waved around by the third base coach.

God he loved this game.

**

Joey stripped off his jock strap at the edge of the shower, looping it over a hook on the wall. He stepped into the steamy spray, washing away the team’s first loss in a week. It had to happen some time; statistically, no one could win every game. But he’d still played hard, driving in five runs and catching one over the wall, robbing the other team of a three-run homer. But the loss still stung, after they’d been coasting on success for the past seven days.

“Hey, Joey, are we gonna catch the bus back to the-- oh, gross!”

Joey turned to see JC, who’d come around the corner of the shower partition, face-to-face with his sweaty jock strap. Joey laughed.

“We’ve all got ‘em, JC. It’s not that big a deal.” He washed the dirt off of his hands, scrubbing his nails in the bar of soap. They were caked with red from his dive into second in the eighth inning. It’d been worth it; he was safe.

“But, like, throw them away man, when they’re used.” JC wrinkled his nose, stepping back from the raunchy undergarment. Joey just laughed good-naturedly. JC would never wear his more than once, dumping them in the garbage after every game. Half his luggage on road trips was brand new jock straps.

“Whatever, man. When’s the bus going?”

JC stepped back to look out the door into the locker room. “Um. Now.”

“Shit.” Joey turned off the water and grabbed his towel, roughly drying off. “Tell them to wait?”

“Well, I was thinking we could go get dinner?” JC offered. He blanched as Joey grabbed his jock from the wall and stuffed it into his bag back in the locker room. “And dude, wash your hands man.”

Joey waved his fingers at JC tauntingly, chuckling as JC backed away. “Dinner’s good. But real food. Nothing raw or undead.”

JC rolled his eyes. “You have no appreciation of the finer things.”

“I have an appreciation for a functioning digestive track. I don’t wanna get sidelined with a case of the runs.” Dressed in jeans and a white button-down shirt, he turned to JC. “Ready?”

JC nodded. He paused, and for a moment, Joey thought JC was going to take his hand. He didn’t.

Joey kind of wished that he had.

**

August 16th: Coors Field, Night Game

JERRY: It’s the bottom of the ninths, with the Rockies trailing by one. Martinez is in scoring position, with one out.

MIKE: Chasez is keeping Martinez to a short lead off the bag. Martinez has seventeen steals on the season, a career high for him, and he leads the Rockies.

JERRY: First pitch is a called strike down the middle. You know, usually we talk about the altitude up here taking an effect on these guys, but they’ve adapted to the pressure change very well.

MIKE: Better than most teams, that’s for sure. I mean, look at Kirkpatrick’s numbers in this series- he’s got ten RBIs, two home runs, no errors-- And it’s a pop fly deep into left, Fatone’s on the run, he’s on the warning track-- And he’s got it! He made the catch! Throw’s to second-- Holy, smokes, they got Martinez! They’ve got him caught in a pickle between second and third. Chasez with an amazing relay is able to turn the ball around to Bass and now Timberlake and Bass have Martinez in a run down, and he’s gonna be tagged out at third. The game is over, and the Rockies have been swept.

JERRY: That’s just amazing. You don’t see plays like that very often. I don’t think Fatone even turned around before he threw that, Chasez was just there.

MIKE: That’s what we’ve been talking about all season with these guys; they play so instinctively, so in synch with each other, it’s like. Well, it’s like watching the old days all over again. What a way to end the series.

**

They flew back on a red eye, sleeping in their seats on the long flight across the country. Justin had seemed kind of confused when JC sat his bag down on the seat next to Joey.

“But we always sit together,” he’d said, puzzled.

JC shrugged casually. “It’s no big deal right?” Joey looked up from his seat, following the conversation carefully.

Lance clapped Justin on the shoulder. “C’mon, J, sit with me.” Joey smiled at him for not making a fuss like Justin. Lance and Joey usually sat together. Chris liked to sit with one of the coaches, talking strategy and sleeping.

JC sat down, nudging Joey with his elbow until Joey offered him a gentle smile. JC grinned back warmly.

Across the eyes, a hard stare was fastened on them, one that flamed with rejection.

**

Home games meant home-- his own bed and no worries that someone would notice that one bed now went empty every night.

JC's mouth moved on Joey's shoulder, licking the line of his sunburned neck, the contrast of wet on hot and cold skin making Joey shiver deliciously. He closed his eyes when JC sucked lightly, not enough to leave a bruise but enough to pull the blood up to the surface of his skin. Joey felt the pull through his whole body, from his toes all the way to where thick skin blocked its release at his throat.

“Damn, Chasez,” Joey moaned, taking JC's head between his hands, holding it so he could kiss him again. “Where'd you learn to do that?”

JC only offered him a wispy smile, then kissed him again, using his tongue to pry open Joey's lips, touching at Joey's teeth as if knocking at the door to invite Joey's tongue out to play.

They had an early game tomorrow, and the threat of jet lag, but Joey wasn't worried about that. His on base percentage was up over .400 and frankly, he’d started to really enjoy this, the feel of JC’s body pressed against his. He wasn’t gay, but he’d come to terms with a nirvana-like state of bisexuality that really fucking rocked his world.

JC's body contorted around him, one leg hooking through Joey's, sending him off balance enough to get them back to the bed. Joey fell willingly, bouncing on the firm mattress as JC rose to kneel above him. He attacked Joey's belt with the ferocity of a raptor on its kill, and Joey let him, more than willing to be manhandled by JC's strong fingers.

JC liked to ride, and he shoved his own pants off, only tugging Joey's to his knees. He ripped open a condom with his teeth and rolled it down onto Joey’s dick with intense concentration, the same look he had when he stared down a pitcher. Joey reached behind him to where the bottle of lube had bounced out of his bag, squirting a blob onto his hand and greasing up his dick where it stood demanding attention.

JC was kneeling over him in a heartbeat, two fingers holding his hole open as Joey held his dick up straight. He closed his eyes again when the slippery heat of JC's ass surrounded him, waiting until he could feel JC's balls brushing against his belly before thrusting upwards, hard. JC moaned above him, hands gripping at Joey's chest, breath coming in short heavy pants.

“Fuck,” Joey groaned, as JC began to rise and fall. He struggled to keep his hips still, to let JC control the rhythms, but he couldn't. His mind had no say in what his body did, as if a remote control device was instructing him to pound harder, faster, into JC's body, until he couldn't help it any more and release flooded through him. JC came minutes later, jerking his own dick until he spurted out across Joey's chest.

Later, when the clock blinked past twelve, Joey felt JC whisper in his ear. “Joey?”

”Mmmm?” Weariness pinned his limbs to the bed, but Joey managed to roll his head to look at JC in the dark.

“Are we doing this just for luck?” JC licked his lips, his eyes unusually large, reflecting moonlight from the window.

Puzzled, Joey started back. “What else would we be doing it for?”

JC shrugged, the blankets sliding off of his bare shoulder. “I just didn't know if it was something you wanted to do, or something you just, like, had to.”

Joey rubbed his head on the pillow, scratching his itchy temple, biding time as he thought about the best way to word this. He'd thought about it too, though hadn't been ready to say anything. “Like, if it wasn't lucky any more. If it stopped working. Would I still do it?”

JC nodded, the briefest movement. There was something like fear written on his face, and Joey knew JC was thinking the same thing he was. JC's mouth twitched in the corners, a half smile.

“Yeah,” Joey breathed, a long word that carried the weight of entire encyclopedias. It would have been the moment to kiss, he thought, if life were like a tear-jerker movie. It wasn't though, and instead of a kiss to seal their passion or whatever it was now, JC only smiled more broadly, a dreamy curve of his lip that carried him into sleep. It was the last thing Joey saw before he closed his eyes and followed.

**

“Hey,” a voice whispered in his ear, waking Joey up from a deep slumber. A gentle hand shook at his shoulder, rousing him to consciousness.

He rolled to see JC leaning over him, resting up on one elbow, stomach pressed intimately to Joey's back. “There's someone here.”

Sitting up, Joey saw wide brown eyes peering up at him from the side of the bed. Briahna stood in her shorty pajamas, blanket clutched between two fingers, thumb in her mouth.

“Hey, baby,” he said, reaching over JC to lift her up and settle her on the bed, on top of the blankets. “Do you remember JC?”

“Hi,” she whispered, burying her face in Joey's shoulder. JC waved two fingers, making her grin.

“Is it time for breakfast?” she asked, cupping her hands around Joey's ear like it was a big secret. He hugged her warm little body and smiled. He’d missed her.

“Sure. What do you want, do you want cereal?”

“Pop Tarts,” she grinned, bouncing on his lap. He lifted her up a bit, to keep her flailing feet away from his goods.

“How about cereal, and blueberries?”

“Blueberries!” She smiled, Kelly's smile, with deep dimples on her cheeks. Joey rubbed her head affectionately.

“Maybe we should ask JC if he wants some?” He smiled at JC, who sat quietly across the bed. JC grinned.

“You want some?” Briahna asked, making JC grin widely and nod affirmatively. “K. C'mon, daddy.” She grabbed his hand, dragging him from the bed. Joey laughed at her eagerness, struggling to keep the sheets around his waist.

“You go find your cup and bowl, OK? We'll be right there.” He laughed more as she ran out of the room.

JC kissed his shoulder. “So, I guess I'm staying for breakfast?”

Joey kissed him back lightly. “But put on some shorts, for God's sake. My kid doesn't need to see your naked butt with her blueberries.”

**

The field was mowed to a perfect even length, green grass fluttering lightly in the breeze. Joey could see his footprints, the trampled spots of grass leading from the dugout to left field, evenly spaced, tracing his route. But everything else was green and perfect.

It was good to play on his home field again, to see the familiar shadows falling around him in left field like a security blanket, tucking him into a comfortable zone. He could do no wrong in this corner of the world.

He wiggled his fingers in his glove, the worn leather creaking as he stretched and loosened his hand. He'd oiled his glove that morning, the scent filling him with memories of sitting on the back steps with his dad the day before Little League began, the same way it always did. With his right hand he adjusted his cap, pulling the brim down to block out the setting sun. A light breeze ruffled the hair at the back of his head, tickling his neck. JC had kissed him there that morning and caused the same thrilling sensation.

The field glowed in the dusky sunlight, red dirt stark against the rich green grass. Joey jumped up and down as the announcer called the first batter from the opposing team to the plate. Around the diamond, everyone crouched, ready. He watched JC's knees bend deep, glove poised to dive for any ball that would fly his way.

Joey watched the first ball sail foul to the left and instinctively took two steps in that direction, though it landed far into the stands. He readjusted his position based on the pull of the ball, ready for the next pitch.

Their pitchers were on that day, and the first three batters went down in order, leaving Joey fresh and ready when he jogged back to the dugout and picked up his helmet.

Lance clapped him on the shoulder when he walked up to the on-deck circle moments later, with one out and JC dusting off his pants at second.

“He's a pattern pitcher,” Lance said lowly, pale eyes narrowed as he focused on the field. “Two fastballs, then something offspeed, then outside. If you wait for it, the fifth pitch will be right down the middle.”

Joey nodded, biting at his sunburned lips. When he got to the plate, he waited, fouling off the first pitch for a strike, then waiting as the pitcher stepped off the mound, carefully eying JC on second base. JC signaled to him to wait for the fifth pitch, the same thing Lance had just said. Joey nodded, a grim smirk on his face. He stepped back into the box, ready.

The second pitch came, sliding in around Joey's knees for ball one, and the next curved far to the inside for ball two. Joey rolled his shoulders and waited. Ball three flew so far outside that the catcher nearly let it pass. JC hovered with a hefty lead, ultimately chased back to base by an attempted pick off. He'd been sliding around so much that his uniform pants were almost as red the numbers on his jersey, but he was smiling like they'd just won the World Series, laughing at something the opposing shortstop said. Joey smiled at the look on his face, happiness blooming in his chest like one of Briahna's flowers.

Lance was a smart guy, because as he watched the wind up, Joey could just pick out the change in position of his fingers, watching as the ball sailed out of his glove and straight for the middle of the plate. Bingo. He swung as hard as he could, feeling the energy ricochet up his arms as wood and leather connected.

The ball sailed into the right field corner, and half of the crowd was saying foul, the other half on their feet cheering as the ball neatly cruised past the pole with less than an inch to spare, bouncing just before the wall. Joey added a little hop to his step as he rounded first and ran into second, praying the outfielder would slow in his race for the ball. He didn't, but the throw was way off, and Joey saw the third base coach waving him around. His legs pounding, chest ached for more air as he slid into third, beating the ball by a mile. The crowd was roaring in his ear, the echo of their voices shaking in his chest. Joey beamed with happiness, face splitting with a smile. Across the field, in the dugout, he could just make out the top of JC's head and wondered when he'd started to look for JC first.

With the one-run lead, they moved through the game, holding the opponents scoreless through nine nearly-perfect innings. Joey was busy in the outfield, catching balls that dropped out from under the lights in pop-up after pop-up from the other team. At the end, the first inning score still held, and Joey's picture was already being sent to the newspapers for front page placement in the next day's edition.

“C'mon, man, we're celebrating,” Justin cried, wrapping his arms around Joey's shoulders, bubbling vivaciously in the locker room. Joey caught JC's eyes and the waver there. There was a celebration planned, oh yes. But it wasn't going to be in a bar or nightclub, or even in Ayala's backyard out in the ‘burbs.

“Some other time,” Joey declined, picking himself out of Justin's embrace, trying not to notice the hurt look on his face.

“Yeah, sure man, whatever.” Justin blinked twice and his face was stony again, then a ripple of amusement landed there as Chris snapped a towel at his legs. He danced away, leaving JC and Joey alone in the row of lockers.

“Your place, in an hour?” JC whispered, passing by without even a glance. Joey gulped and nodded. He'd be ready.

“Wait, aren’t you guys coming to Trace’s? I thought we were doing a barbecue thing.” Lance stared at them curiously from the end of the aisle.

“Um,” Joey glanced at JC furtively. “I forgot about that.” Helplessly JC shrugged. “We’ll be there, I guess.”

Justin came back rolled his eyes, stuffing his cleats into his bag. “Way to make it feel like you want to be around us,” he said, sullen again.

“No, seriously, I just forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Chris walked by, dressed in a fan T-shirt and jeans.

“The cookout thing.” He smiled at Chris, hoping for sympathy. He didn’t get any. Chris just turned away.

“See you later, then,” Lance said, hoisting his duffle over one shoulder and walking out with Tony and Ray.

“Damn,” JC said. “It’s frigid in here.”

Joey watched his friends scattering, all carefully avoiding each other. Fuck. He’d just gotten everything with JC straightened out and now this.

**

August 20th: Home Park, Night Game

JERRY: It’s been a rough and tumble game out there, with some great moments and some very questionable plays on the part of the infield, and it’s only the fourth inning.

MIKE: Yeah, I don’t know what happened there as we take a look at that replay of the botched double play last inning. It looks like Chasez was going for the ball but Timberlake charged in to catch it, which left no one to cover second.

JERRY: I’ve never seen these guys play like this before; they’re usually much better about communicating on the field.

MIKE: Well, neither of them looks very happy about it as we pan down the dugout. The whole team looks pretty sad there.

JERRY: Maybe our mascot died. Has anyone seen him today?

MIKE: There he is, up in the stands, with our fans of the game. Let’s go live, now, to talk to them.

**

They lost.

The locker room was hushed after the game, a sense foreboding clinging in the air along with the late summer humidity. Everything was sticky with the threat of the storm.

“Everyone out.” Chris declared, watching the team quickly gather their gear and head for the bus. “Not you,” he held up Lance and Justin. “And not you.” He pointed to JC and Joey.

He spoke again when only the five of them remained. “OK. We’re gonna have this out, once and for all. Because there’s something going on here that’s screwing things up. And I’m not going to give up on this team because you fuckers can’t get along.”

“It’s nothing,” JC said, standing up to stare down Chris. “Me and Joey have a thing, and it’s kind of a luck thing, and it’s no big deal, it’s just not something we want to be telling everyone about.”

“A luck thing? Why the hell wouldn’t you want to tell us about it?” Lance stared at them blankly.

“It’s nothing,” Joey said. “It’s not really something that can be, like, duplicated. You know we’d tell you if it was. It’s just a thing, and we’re willing to take the time for it, right?” JC nodded in agreement.

“So you guys get good, and in the mean time alienate the rest of the team by ignoring us outside of the park, is that right?” Chris’s ears were flaming red with barely-controlled anger.

JC sighed, leaning against the wall. “It’s nothing you guys did, it’s just a thing. Like I said, a luck thing. Don’t tell me y’all don’t have your superstitions.”

“There’s a difference between Lance’s crossing himself at the plate and you guys cutting yourself off from the team,” Chris said wryly.

Suddenly, Justin, who’d been quiet up to this point, exploded. “Goddamn it, JC, Field of Dreams isn't real. There's no “if you build it they will come” crap in the real world. There's no magic out there, just blood and sweat and trying as hard as you goddamn can to send that ball over, to catch it when it flies to you, and to run as fast as you can. So cut out this secret formula bull before it rips the team apart from the inside.”

“You don't understand.” JC's face was red with fury as he stared down Justin. The locker room was silent around them, all eyes on the dynamic duo who'd never before so much as criticized the way the other tied his shoelaces.

“No, JC, you don't. You and Joey, you're tearing us up with your voodoo games, and it's killing us. Do you think we'll make it to October like this? Your numbers are all up and whatever, but look at us. Look at all of us.” His arms flew wildly around the room as he spoke, anger radiating off of him in nearly visible waves. “You'd better take a good look at yourself, JC, because if you keep this up, you might have a title for yourself at the end of the season, but none of us are going to have that ring.”

JC hardened his stare, watching as Justin kicked at a locker, slamming the metal so loudly that it echoed off the walls. He cursed, grabbing his jacket and turning his back to JC. Joey watched the whole thing as if it were a movie being played in front of him, strangely detached.

“I guess you just need to decide what's more important. You and Joey and your secrets, or this team. Cause you sure as hell can't keep both.”

He left. JC closed his eyes, frozen in the middle of the room as the rest of the team scurried out around him. Joey stood and rested a hand on JC’s shoulder, but no words came until the door to the street banged closed and silence once again descended around them.

Opening his eyes, JC stared at Joey sadly. He looked worn, Joey thought, like he'd just played a double-header extra-innings and lost all the way through. He certainly felt defeated.

“We have to tell them,” JC said, five words that Joey knew would be forever changing his world. He could only nod as JC pulled him close in a hug, letting his arm linger over Joey's shoulders as they slowly walked out of the locker room, Justin's anger still cutting through both of them in deep strokes. Joey hoped Justin would forgive them when he knew the whole story.

**

Morning haze clung to the field, shrouding the stands in a heavy mist that didn't look like it would burn off by game time. A slew of storms had rolled through the night before, leaving the outfield grass slippery with residual raindrops and morning dew. In the distance, thunder rumbled, an ominous threat that today's game may not be a go.

JC had made the calls, Joey sitting next to him on the couch as he dialed. It was a credit to the other three that they’d shown up, no questions asked.

”Ready to run?” Chris asked, clapping a hand tightly on Joey's shoulder. He nodded, and bent to touch his toes, stretching out his body, limbering up for a workout. Across the field, three figures emerged from the mist, to join Chris and Joey on their early morning run.

They needed to get back on track, back together as a team. JC has suggested the private workout, something to seclude the five of them from the rest of the team and let them focus on healing.

It was time to come clean, Joey knew, and he was glad these three would be the first people he told. He and JC had spent most of last night not discussing it, and finally, as they both fell into bed with drooping eyes, they had been able to admit that keeping this secret, no matter how much they might fear its release, was simply tearing the team apart. The risk of telling had somehow equaled the risk of not telling. Now they just had to take a chance.

For now, though, Joey concentrated on the pounding of his feet as they ran around the outfield, measured steps counting the distance from corner to corner. He had to know things like that, to keep from running into walls during a game. Players learned early not to take their eye off the ball, to know the field as well as a blind man would. As they ran, he counted, watching the first fat raindrops fall out of the sky, the patter of them against the tarp covering the infield echoing in his ears.

They ran together, in rows of two and three, until the rain streamed so heavily from the sky that it was pointless to continue. Orange mud caked their cleats as they jogged into the dugout, watching from the shelter as a lightening bolt ripped across the sky behind third base.

“We'll get the rainout,” Lance said, stripping off his wet shirt when JC handed him a towel.

“Which just puts Carter and those fuckers one game up on us again.” Justin scowled, rubbing his curly hair vigorously to shake out the rain. He'd been letting it grow since the season began, and now his head was obscured with a mass of frizzy blonde curls.

“Don't worry about them,” JC soothed. He stood on the steps, letting the rain run down his shoulders, soaking rivers onto his official T-shirt and shorts.

“Christ, C, get in here before you get struck by lightening.” Chris hauled him down the steps, back through the dugout into the locker room. They all followed.

Normally a workout would continue with weights and field practice, but they were the only ones at the stadium, so there was no one to ensure protocol was followed. Alleviated by the steadily pounding rain, the five men chatted quietly through warm showers, reemerging in the locker room bundled in sweats.

“Can you guys hang out for a second,” JC asked, as Lance picked up his bag. Joey watched Lance glance over at Chris, who nodded. Lance set his gear down without a word.

“Sure,” Justin said quietly. He leaned forward on the bench, elbows perched on top of his knobby knees.

Joey glanced at JC, unsure of how to begin. He wished they would just know, that the magic telepathy they had on the field would somehow transcend to this moment, and he wouldn't have to say the words out loud.

“First,” JC said, “we want to apologize to you guys for being, well, reclusive lately.” He glanced at Joey, who nodded along. That was a good place to start.

Chris studied them seriously. “Are you gonna tell us why? More than your lame excuse from last night?” he asked. Chris was so keen on honesty. If they walked away now, Joey knew, it would be forever.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, in one long breath. “It's just kind of hard to explain, so bear with us, OK?”

Three heads bobbed in unison, making Joey smile. He glanced at JC, the nervousness clearly written on his face, and smiled strongly, hoping to send some confidence with the grin.

“OK. It started out as a fluke, right, about a month ago--”

“Wait,” Justin said, holding up a hand. “Just tell me one thing first, and then I promise I won't interrupt again. Whatever you're doing, it's not illegal, right? We're not going to get banned by knowing this.”

Chris made a move to slap him, but Lance caught his hand firmly before the motion was completed. “He's right,” Lance said quietly. “We're your friends and we'll stand by you, no matter what, but if this is something that could get us in any kind of trouble, with the league or the law, you have to respect us enough to know that we're better off no knowing.”

Chris scowled and ripped his hand out of Lance's grasp, but didn't make a move to strike out again. Outside, thunder roared.

“It's nothing like that at all,” JC said, “I swear to you guys, neither Joe nor I are into any of that stuff.” Joey crossed his heart and held up his fingers, eliciting a weak smile from Justin.

“Can I continue now?” JC asked. When he got no reply, he began to speak again, slowly and quietly. “Yeah, so, it was a one-time thing, but then we both did really well afterwards, that next game. Then the game after that, we sucked, out in Seattle when we were getting run all over by the Mariners? So we thought, if we did it again, we might play well again, and it worked. So we kept doing it?”

“Doing what?” Lance's voice rumbled like the thunder.

“I'm getting to that. See, the thing is, it was like a lucky charm, a ritual we used, but after a few weeks, it changed and it was more. It was. Something else,” he said, words failing as he looked to Joey for help.

Four pairs of eyes focused on him, and Joey took a deep breath and blurted the whole thing out. “Me and JC have been sleeping together for about a month, and we've decided we want to keep doing it.”

Stunned silence echoed back at him, as the notion processed on his teammate's faces.

“Oh.” Chris's single word was all that was spoken, as he looked almost comically back and forth between the two men. “Oh.”

“So you can see why we didn't want to tell anyone,” JC said, trying to keep the conversation going, to keep the heavy weight out of silence at bay. “It's something that we can't let out, can't ever go public with. Not in this lifetime, in this game.”

“No,” Lance breathed, “you can't. And we were pressuring you, treating you so shitty-” He abruptly got up and crossed to JC, pulling him up, standing, and hugged him, clapping his back tightly. “I'm sorry man.” He did the same with Joey, and the other two followed.

“So you guys understand? That we didn't mean to exclude anyone, or start anything off.” The other three nodded, murmuring explanations of understanding. JC smiled at Joey.

“We didn't want to hide anything,” Joey said, “because God, it was screwing things up so much.”

“Not anymore,” Chris promised. “No more secrets between us, because that's what fucks with the team, the lying and sneaking around. No more secrets, and no more getting on people's back about stupid shit. We're gonna go win this thing.”

A loud burst of thunder echoed his statement, making them all jump.

“But not today, cause it's raining fucking hard out there,” Justin said, pointing back up the stairs to the field. Sheets of water fell from the sky, drowning the park in late-summer rain.

“Let's go home,” Chris said, “I'm taking advantage of this extra day of sleep.”

**

“Now what?” JC asked when they got back to Joey's, parking in the garage to avoid the rain.

“Now what, what?”

“Like, what do we do now?”

Joey grinned at him, amused. “What, you've never had a day off before?”

With a laugh JC wound his arms around Joey's shoulders. “Never with you,” he said, kissing him playfully on the lips. Joey laughed into JC's mouth and kissed him back, joy flowing into the kiss the way the rain drops ran down the window panes.

“We should take this upstairs,” Joey said, glancing at the clock. “My kid will be home at three.”

“That gives us four hours.” JC nipped at his lower lip, pulling Joey's attention away from the time and back to more important matters, like kisses and touches that Joey was so willing to give.

In the bedroom they undressed slowly, going to each other bare without any inhibition. Joey remembered the first time-- well, the second, since the first was still a bit blurry-- when he'd felt so awkward with JC when they were stripped of all coverings. Now, he was completely at ease, pulling JC by the hip until their chests were aligned, kissing him deeply as his dick began to swell between their bodies.

JC sat on the bed, propelling himself backward so Joey could climb up over him, reclined on the dark cotton blankets with up reached hands. Joey let himself be pulled down, burying his face in JC's damp hair, tasting the skin behind his ear as JC's hands roamed up and down his back, rubbing sensuously over a mole, a freckle. Joey shuddered under JC's pressing fingers at the same time he leaned into them, craving the touch of this man who he'd come to--. Well, that was another matter entirely.

Right then, Joey was focused on JC's skin beneath his mouth, the way his collarbone tasted, right along the scar where JC had succumbed to corrective surgery in college. The faint line made JC shiver as Joey's tongue crossed it again and again. He blew on the damp skin, warm air across his own kiss marks, and JC hummed deep appreciation.

“Do that again,” he begged, and Joey happily obliged. JC's hands had slipped lower on his back, massaging their way to his ass. Joey wiggled lower, sliding out of JC's reach, laughing at the miniscule pout that popped onto JC's lips.

To make up for it, he returned his mouth to JC's skin, kissing at the fine hair on his chest, the tight nubs of his nipples, the dip of his belly-button on JC's stomach. Each touch had JC panting a bit louder beneath him, his cock straining upwards demandingly, a furious shade of red that Joey ignored as he moved up again, kissing his way back to JC's mouth, where he spent an eternity enjoying the taste and feel of JC's lips, his tongue, the smooth surface and hard edges of teeth.

It was with a groan that JC separated them, rolling on top of Joey with nothing but animal lust in his eyes. Joey batted at him to rise up, giving Joey room to roll to the nightstand drawer. He watched, wide eyed, as JC uncapped the bottle and took Joey's hand, drizzling slick liquid into his palm. Joey was helpless, JC's ploy, as he felt his other hand being lifted and dragged through the puddle until his fingers were coated. He nodded mutely when JC lifted up, pulling Joey's hand between his legs, and groped blindly as the furry skin until he found JC's entrance and plunged inside. JC's hands trembled on his stomach as Joey's fingers scissored inside of JC, stretching him out so that JC would be ready. His mind whirled in anticipation, and it was a chore not to rush through this to get to the good stuff.

When he pulled his hand away, JC sagged on him. “Come on,” he urged, rolling a condom down Joey's cock, “I need you.”

Joey slid in as the last word trailed off with a low moan, making JC shiver. “Now,” he whispered, “move, Joey, move,” and began to rock. Joey thrust upwards, again and again, into JC's waiting body. His hands gripped tightly on JC's thighs, holding him down, keeping JC from rising away from him and leaving his cock unsheltered. JC's hands were slowly working up and down on his own cock, half time to Joey's frenetic pace.

When he came it was with a shout, holding JC close as he pulsed inside of him. JC smiled dreamily, letting Joey slip from his body, thrusting against the curve of Joey's hip until he too came, wetting Joey's skin as JC's body shivered in release.

Together they rolled across the bed, to the cool dry side near the windows. JC slumped languidly on Joey's shoulder as he reached for a handful of Kleenex.

“Wanna go watch a movie or something?” Joey asked, hoping JC would want to spend a rainy day at home with him. JC lifted his head and grinned.

“Can we make popcorn?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Sure.”

“Then I'm sold. But no baseball movies,” he said, sitting up on the bed. His skin still glowed with post-orgasmic bliss, his hair a mess. He looked, Joey thought, beautiful.

“Deal.”

That night, JC stayed, laughing with Kelly when she dropped off Briahna. They knew each other from her waitressing days, and chatted easily about how far they’d come since then. Joey hadn’t told Kelly yet about his adventures in bisexuality. He didn’t fear her reaction, but knew it was something that would require extensive conversation and consideration, something best left until the off season.

After dinner, they sat outside, well covered in Off Skintastic, watching the fireflies dance around Briahna's swing. She crawled into JC's arms without hesitation and fell asleep contentedly. Joey wrapped an arm around them and rocked the glider swing with his toes.

**

The next day’s game was the best they’d ever played, defensively and offensively. They set a new club record for most runs scored in one inning- 14, annihilating the poor Tampa Bay team before the game was half over.

It was a great way to go into their three game series against their rivals for first in the division.

“Yeah, it does mean more,” Joey said to the reporter outside the clubhouse that night. “You know the fans really appreciate these games the most, so you want to win it for them as well as for yourself. You know these are the ones that people are going to remember, and we know these guys are the ones we’re gonna be seeing in the post-season. The more wins we get against them now, the better situated we’ll be then.”

He thought he sounded pretty good, until he heard Kevin Richardson talking about how Joey was “doing well, but we can break any streak” when he caught a glimpse of it on the news.

JC took the remote from his hand and shut off the television.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said, kissing a curve down Joey’s cheek. “We’ll get them where it counts.”

“They’re such fucking big mouths,” Joey mumbled, angry that his very nice sound bite was overshadowed by the rival left fielder shooting his mouth off.

“Well, two more home runs and you’ll pass him in the rankings, you know that right?” JC was whispering now, hands rubbing circles around Joey’s puckered nipples. He shivered under JC’s light touch.

“Maybe this weekend,” he said, sliding down the bed so that JC could ravish him more thoroughly.

**

August 30th: The Ball Park. Night Game

MIKE: And it’s a long drive to left, Richardson is back on the warning track, looking over his shoulder and-- that ball is gone! They’ve tied it up with a two run homer in the fifth, and Joey Fatone could not look happier as he runs the bases. Timberlake will score, Chasez will score, and Joey Fatone, the hero of this game, will score as well.

JERRY: Richardson didn’t even stand a chance with this one. Look at that, on the replay. That ball went well over four hundred feet, into the stands way up in the upper level.

MIKE: And they’re calling for a pitching change, as Dorough heads back into the dugout. He gave them a good four innings, but a rally led by Justin Timberlake has ended him in the fifth with Joey Fatone’s fiftieth home run of the season, setting him just one behind Kevin Richardson in the AL Standings.

**

They took the series 2-1, and Joey managed to eek past Kevin in the last inning of the three game battle. He sent a looper over the right fielder’s glove, dropping it in the bullpen for a solo homer that didn’t win him the game, but allowed him to leave satisfied with the two game win and the first place standing it awarded them.

Afterwards, the reporters crowded into the dugout for interviews, anxious to get feedback from the players after such an anticipated series. It was their last match-up with the rival team before the post season.

“It feels good, it always feels good to win, but here, it’s really good.” Joey smiled at the NBC sportscaster from the local news affiliate. “We’ve got a great team, Justin had that great home run in the first game, Lansten caught that foul that got us out of the eighth today. Everyone’s got something to contribute, we don’t sit around and depend on a good pitcher or a couple of hot bats to get us through games. We all play really well, and I think that’s why we’re where we are.”

Suddenly, Joey had and arm around his shoulder. “That’s his way of saying that ‘We’re Number One!’” JC jumped on Joey’s back, Joey’s arms managing to catch his legs before JC fell. Joey laughed and ran away from the reporters with JC chanting over his head, arms waving through the air.

It was on every TV station in the country that evening. Joey didn’t care at all.

They were number one. And August was over.

**

They met the rivals again in October, at the American League Championship Series. They’d won the division, but Nick Carter and his teammates had snagged the wildcard, so it all came down to game seven of the ALCS.

And Joey was nervous. Very nervous.

“Come on,” JC said, pulling him up the steps of the locker room into the dugout. They had home field advantage, on their own turf for this last, important battle. If they won this one, there was the World Series. If they lost, they went home.

They park was filled to capacity; not even standing room remained. Every person was on their feet as the announcer began to list the starting lineup.

Joey and JC paused at the top of the dugout steps with the other three, watching the flashbulbs going off all around the field.

“This is it,” JC said, hand trailing down Joey’s arm, as much of a touch as he dared. “This is our moment.”

Joey turned to him, pulling him into a tight hug as the music began. “Let’s win this,” he said, and they ran onto the field.

END


End file.
